Checkmate
by Hekko
Summary: Rebecca had been just a little odd schoolgirl until the day she underestimated the Forbidden Forest. Now she is a mere pawn on someone else's chessboad... a pawn with one too many secrets. Set after HBP. Rating for language and adult themes.
1. The Proposition

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Checkmate  
The Proposition**

* * *

The darkness was complete with the only exception of a thin line of light coming through the small window just below the ceiling. Rebecca pulled the small girl she was holding closer and reached out to caress her brother Charlie who had dozed off by her side. It wasn't his fault they ended up here. He had been the one to come and tell her about a group of first years who had decided to wander off into the Forbidden Forest just when Dumbledore's funeral had been over.

The wrong decision to go and find them without alarming a teacher had been hers.

They had been captured by Death Eaters not long after finding the first years and getting lost in the forest together. Since then, they had been kept in this cell - or cellar - for sixteen days. During the days, the small window gave just enough light for them to recognise each other. During the nights, the darkness was... complete.

A few children raised their heads when the locks on the door rattled. The girl in Rebecca's arms stirred, stretched and sat up. Rebecca stood up and felt Charlie join her. She pushed him behind herself. So far none of them had been hurt - but that could change.

The door opened and the cell was suddenly full of light. All the children were awake now, some stirring in confusion, some staring at the short figure that had appeared in the door.

"Rebecca Garthy?" the man asked.

"That's me," Rebecca answered. Her voice was rough and she was surprised it worked at all.

"Come here," the man ordered. She looked at Charlie, silently telling him to stay calm. He was just fifteen, but the rest of them were twelfe, and until she returned, he was the oldest among them.

She climbed the few stairs to the door and the Death Eater pulled her roughly through the doorframe. Maybe he though she was moving too slowly, maybe he just wanted to be rough and she hadn't given him any other reason.

They were in a cold corridor lit by torches. It led to an entrance hall, Rebecca remembered, and continued somewhere deeper around a corner. Another man was waiting in the corridor and Rebecca felt her blood freeze in her veins.

He was tall and thin, had a pair of red eyes and no nose that could be called a nose. This must have been He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself. Rebecca suppressed a shudder when he looked at her.

"Rebecca," he said in a high, hissing voice. His eyes seemed to be piercing through her - in fact, she was sure he was roaming through her mind right now. She felt the slight tingling that indicated a Legilimens visiting and she hoped her Occlumency was good enough to keep her secrets secret.

"Voldemort," she managed when the tingling ceased. She regretted her cheekiness immediately. She was willing to bear his ire for herself, there were, however, seven children and her own brother in a cell just two steps from her.

But Lord Voldemort didn't seem to be offended. His face changed and it took Rebecca acouple of seconds to realise he was _smiling_ at her.

"Rebecca," he repeated almost friendly. "There is something I wish to discuss with you." Rebecca waited for him to continue.

"Erm... yes?" she enquired when he didn't.

"Yes, Master!" the Death Eater behind her barked and prodded her between her shoulder blades. She bit her lip halfway through the yelp of pain, determined not to give him the satisfaction of showing her discomfort.

"Wormtail," Voldemort said in what Rebecca supposed to be a mild voice. The man behind her backed away from her.

"I have a proposition for you," Voldemort said to Rebecca. She forced her arms to stay at her sides rather than fold at her breast defensively.

"What kind of a proposition?" Voldemort stepped closer to her and took hold of her elbow, turning both of them away from Wormtail.

"There is a servant of mine I reckon you know. Severus Snape. He has become very... moody lately and I would like to make him feel better."

Rebecca contemplated this, sorted her thoughts out and dared to look directly into those red, inhuman eyes.

"And you need me because...?"

"Because I am not a young, pretty girl." Rebecca stared at him. He couldn't mean... "As I know Severus," Voldemort continued, "he likes these things better if the girl in question does them willingly."

"Willingly," Rebecca repeated dumbly, not quite believing her ears.

"We could make it a magical contract, to ensure both sides keep their end of the bargain."

After a minute or so, Rebecca managed to string a sentence, "And your end of it would be what?"

"As a token of my good will, I will let the children go freely," Voldemort offered.

The willing part of the deal must have been really important. From the right point of view, it was reassuring - a beastly man, a monster, wouldn't need his partner to give him consent to his actions, would he? But she still wasn't persuaded. Was there any way this could be a nasty trick? Rebecca's mind started cataloguing spells and charms that could possibly be used against her if she agreed with this.

"All of them?" she asked to gain some time.

"All eight," Voldemort confirmed at once. "I will make a Portkey to send them to whatever location seems appropriate."

There was probably very little use for eight children for Voldemort, but still... couldn't he put her under Imperius and be done with it?

"I'll make the Portkey myself," she said resolutely. Something flicked through Voldemort's eyes, but the quality of the emotion behind the flicker Rebecca couldn't guess.

"I believe I have more practice with making Portkeys," Voldemort said unsurely.

"I'll manage." Rebecca held her hand out.

Three seconds later she realised where the trouble lied.

"Oh, come on," she snapped impatiently. "What can I do? I just barely passed the defense O.W.L.s - and it wasn't because I would be that good at the practical part. Maybe if I concentrate hard enough, I'll get rid of a few red capes." That brough a new expression to Voldemort's face, and once again, Rebecca found herself unable to interpret it.

"Wormtail, lend her your wand," Voldemort ordered. The Death Eater seemed to be surprised, but obliged. Rebecca fished a brass phial out of her pocket. She paused.

"Just to make this sure," she said. "You want me to bed Severus Snape, sleep with him and make him as relaxed and happy as I manage in exchange for the eight children down there to get home?"

"Yess," Voldemort hissed, eyes fixed on the wand in her hand.

She turned the phial into a Portkey and primed it to go off in three minutes. She threw the wand back to Wormtail, who caught it clumsily, and opened the door to the cell.

"Everyone get hold of this," she ordered and threw the phial to Charlie. The children gathered round him. "Make sure you're holding it - it's a Portkey. Charlie, you..."

"You're not coming?" Charlie cried out, eyes already wet. A smart boy, her brother was.

"Not right now. Make sure Mum gets her medicine, will you?" Charlie nodded. His lips began to tremble, but he held back the tears and chided everyone who didn't seem to hold the phial firmly enough.

"I'll be fine," Rebecca said just before they all disappeared. If she made her job well, they would appear on the Hogwarts grounds, just before Hagrid's hut. There would be someone at Hogwarts they could turn to, even now, in July, she was sure of it.

As she turned back, a spell hit her and she staggered. When she wanted to complain, she found out her voice was gone.

"I find it crucial you wouldn't mention the details of our little agreement to Severus," Voldemort explained.

And how the hell am I supposed to get the man to talk to me, Rebecca thought sourly.

"Now, to the details..." And again, Voldemort grabbed her elbow to lead her around. Rebecca was surprised her skin hadn't crawled away from the spot his fingers were touching. But, she mused, there was the hope she had been looking for - Voldemort didn't know everything. He certainly couldn't read her mind if he believed she was sacrificing herself. He got it all wrong.

* * *

The first time Rebecca met Severus Snape was at a funeral. Her mother had told her and Charlie it was a funeral of her distant cousin Eileen who she had been very close with during their school-time. She hadn't explain why Aunt Eileen had never come to see her friend during the last few years - as long as Rebecca remembered - and when asked, she had become sad and hadn't responded.

The tall, pale man at the coffin, Rebeca's mother whispered to her children, was Eileen's only son Severus. He was a teacher at Hogwarts, she continued, Rebecca would meet him again in a few months.

Rebecca scrutinised the man after that. He didn't look to be much fun to be around, but then, it was his mother's funeral - people usually weren't joyous over their mother's death. She looked him in the eye after the ceremony and felt sudden urge to make him smile. The funeral, however, didn't seem to be the appropriate occassion, and Rebecca decided to take her chance on the quest in three months, after starting her first year at Hogwarts.

From that day, Rebecca was looking forward to the beginning of the school term with impatient passion reserved to children. Her enthusiasm was so infectous her younger brother, freshly eight by then, demanded to be allowed to come with her at least for a few days.

* * *

**A/N:** Warning: this is silly. Don't expect much depth or anything. Also, don't expect much dark themes - there is some violance later, but no more than you can watch daily in the news.


	2. The Exchange of Queens

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Checkmate  
The Exchange of Queens**

* * *

They were seated at a chessboard in a small, brightly lit room. The decorations weren't much - a small round table to hold the board, two chairs, two dark dusty curtains framing a false window charmed to show a boring landscape, a closet and an empty bookshelf. The game had begun as a list of rules she was supposed to follow from now on. Most of them Rebecca didn't need to remember in particular, since "do not leave Severus' rooms without permission" and "do not attempt to obtain a wand" went very well with what she believed an imprisoment was about.

She didn't understand the rule about reporting any cat she spotted, unless Voldemort expected McGonagall herself to turn up to spy on him, but she accepted it calmly. What she had a hard time not to laugh at was a strict rule about shoes - to wear soft shoes or none all the time? Apparently someone around there suffered from headaches or something, but there were potions to deal with such things, weren't there? She herself could brew at least three different draughts, from one specifically developed to be used by children to the strongest painkiller known to wizards, able to deal with the worst migraines.

But brewing potions belonged to the mustn't list. And anything she could brew, Snape had taught her - with the exception of the seventh year curriculum, which he must have mastered as well. So he could brew it - wasn't he trusted enough?

Not being the one allowed to argue right now, she had simply nodded to everything, keeping her protests to herself. Being mute helped a lot on that account. Usually, her mouth would run off with her.

The strangest request of all, she decided, had been to play a game of chess. The wizarding chess she couldn't handle missing both her voice and magic, but Voldemort, of all mad wizards, had a Muggle set ready and didn't mind to use it.

Not being a strong player, Rebecca was currently deciding between sacrificing her bishop or her knight. She knew the knight was supposed to be the more valuable piece of the two, but she believed the bishop to be at the tactically more important area.

In the end, she sacrificed her queen by taking Voldemort's.

"Getting tired of your most valuable piece?" Voldemort asked, not covering his amusement. Rebecca, on the other hand, thought the move was plainly genius. They both lost the strongest figure which Voldemort could use to more effect than she - didn't it mean their chances became more... even?

In three wild moves neither she nor Voldemort managed to comprehend, by pure chance and Voldemort's lack of attention, Rebecca trapped Voldemort's king with her bishop.

To her surprise, the situation turned out to be a checkmate.

"Not a bad game," Voldemort concluded. Rebecca felt a pang of fear - what if Voldemort was a sour loser? But he seemed to be fascinated by the way the game had ended and in the end merely offered her his arm, which she accepted for safety reasons, and led her through another corridor, up a staircase and down to a common, unmarked door.

The anticipation was both thrilling and scary.

"I will check up on you regularly to make sure you don't lack anything," Voldemort promised and opened the door for her. She entered slowly, unsure about what to expect. The door behind her fell shut.

At first, the room remained dark. Slowly, one after one, candles were lit by magic. Rebecca wondered whether it had been Snape who had set them to come to life gradually.

There was a huge, if chaste bed with a bedside table. A desk in a corner, with an uncomfortably looking chair, a set of quills lying on it, but with no ink or parchments - Snape must have kept them in one of the drawers. Rebecca tried all of them, they were locked. There were two large wooden closets and only one door, which led to a small, cold bathroom. There was a huge ancient tube in the middle of the room and Rebecca turned the hot tap to test it. A steaming jet of water started filling the tube. Rebecca adjusted the cold tap until the water became pleasantly warm.

At the rim of the tube, there was a set of bottles of different sizes and shapes. Most of them seemed to be home-made and Rebecca sniffed at a few of them. She found one she believed to be a relaxing draught of some kind, rubbed a drop into the skin of the back of her hand, and when there was no violent and painful reaction, she tipped a generous amount of the stuff into the bath.

There were two smaller closets at each side of a washbasin, one of them containing a few towels and bath towels, all of them in a sick shade of light green. Rebecca took one and placed it over a warmer, only to realise she couldn't trigger the spell without her wand.

Had she had her voice, she would have been cursing.

But the bathroom was getting warmer from the water in the tube already and Rebecca shrugged off her dirty robes and slid under the surface. After more than two weeks spent in one cell with eight more people, without even an opportunity to wash her hands, it was a heaven, and she savoured the feel of flavourised water against her skin. She dived to wet her hair and started looking for a shampoo - she really should have done it before getting water in her eyes - in vain.

Among more than two dozens of hygienic potions, there was none that could serve as a shampoo, and in the end Rebecca had to get out of the tube to fetch a bar of soap from the washbasin. Her hair felt thin and unhealthy after such treatment, but it was better than greasy.

She wondered what had driven Snape into this... expulsion of hair cosmetics. There must have been something - among the myriads of different wizarding shampoos, had he never found one that would suit him?

Rebecca got out of the bath when the water became lukewarm. She found, to her astonishment, that her own robes had disappeared. Instead a clean set was lying over a chair that - also - hadn't been there before. Either a very advanced domestic charm or a house-elf in action, Rebecca mused while drying her hair. Much to her chagrin, there was no mirror and no comb in the bathroom. She examined the set of robes minutely. They were light, much lighter than she would have preferred, made of yellow and brown fabric, and only had one layer. She didn't have anything else to wear, though, and considering her quest, thick clothes would probably only interfere, so she pulled the robes on.

Trying to see whether the robes fit her properly seemed ridiculous to Rebecca. She felt comfortable, if a bit more exposed than she liked, and decided to go quickly through Snape's closets to see whether he kept at least a small mirror somewhere. He should - some very advanced potions required using one - but he could keep it in his laboratory, wherever it was.

The robes made a soft rustling sound, a lot gentler than the heavy school set made, and the fancy long bits around her legs were ticklish. Rebecca had barely time to open the nearer of the closets when a sound of footsteps echoed from the corridor. Someone stopped right behind the door and she could make out two voices - one high and hissing and the other smooth like velvet.

She closed the closet and arranged herself in the middle of the bed. The voices stopped talking, sound of footsteps announced Voldemort taking his leave, and the doorknob moved.

* * *

The first Potions lesson was a disappointment. Rebecca had read every Potions book she had found in her mother's library - and there were many textbooks, manuals and guides there - and she had been excited by the prospect of learning more. She didn't need any encouragement and she drank every word from Snape's lips hungrily, but he seemed to be neither impressed by her knowledge, nor interested in her eagerness.

At seeing Snape's hard, cold eyes, Rebecca changed her plans. She wanted to be appreciated by the man, she wanted him to notice her hard work and she decided to make him see that she was worth his attention.

As the weeks passed, however, her agitation lessened. A sign she was the least bit successful never came. Snape remained cold, reserved, distant, snarling and sneering, the same as ever. Rebecca wondered whether he had mourned his mother at all. After all, this sad appearance was said to be his usual self by most, by some even his _better_ self.

Her urge to make Snape smile had come from her pity. Now she was determined to make him go out of his ways because of her. She was angry with him and sometimes, she even hated him.

But sometimes, in the dead of night, just before she fell asleep, she felt something completely different growing slowly in her soul. It was neither pity nor anger and she didn't understand it and it remained hidden until the end of her third year at Hogwarts.

* * *

**A/N: **I actually managed to beat my husband in chess once, because I exchanged my queen for his. Since he was a better player than I (especially with strong pieces while overlooking the paws), he was at loss after losing his main weapon.


	3. The Sleeping Beast

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Checkmate  
The Sleeping Beast**

* * *

Snape entered the room in the same manner he used to enter the classroom and Rebecca automatically sat up and reached for her quill. She only realised they weren't at Hogwarts when she found none, and blushed in embarassment. But Snape didn't even look at her. He locked the door behind himself, bent over his desk and tapped the lowest drawer with his wand. It opened and he rummaged through its contents, taking something out and putting something else in. From her perch in the middle of his bed, Rebecca couldn't see what it was, and she doubted Snape would let her have a peek anyway.

"Now," he barked at the desk and turned to her, "come here." Rebecca shifted to the edge of the bed. This wasn't going like she had imagined - or like Voldemort had planned.

Snape put two long, cold fingers under her chin and tilted her head back. She looked him in the eye and realised what he was about to do. But there was nothing she had to worry about - every secret she kept was either his secret or a lie, except for the one she _wanted_ to share with him.

"I thought so," he nodded sharply and let go of her. She looked at him in confusion. He was skilled enough to leave no trace of what he had seen in her mind, but obviously it hadn't been anything compromising, or he wouldn't be backing away from her, hands locked behind his back, his expression closed.

Or would he?

"Miss Garthy, you are in no danger," Snape said in a funny voice. "I will not... violate your... your _freedom._ As soon as it's possible, you will return home - unharmed."

_You are violating my freedom ever since my first day at Hogwarts!_ she screamed, not quite realising her voice had been put out. _Every time you fail to see me as I am, and not as you think I may be!_

"And I will arrange for more, erm, _appropriate_ robes you could wear," Snape added, raising a hand in defence. Rebecca's eyes nearly fell out. Did the robes really reveal that much?

Snape turned away from her and opened one of the closets. There were sets of robes hanging there, each black. All of them seemed the same to Rebecca, but Snape must have seen a difference between them, because he chose one, took it out and after a careful glance in Rebecca's direction shrunk it a little with a wave of his wand.

"There." He handed her the robes without looking at her. She inspected them. They were plain, made from a thick and rough fabric, but the inner side was soft enough. She threw them quickly over her head. They were slightly loose around her shoulders and slightly tight around her breast, but mostly her size, and at last, she felt dressed.

Snape finally turned to her. She was shocked - had he been really uncomfortable around her because she had been sexy?

That _much_ uncomortable?

"Have some sleep. Before dawn, the corridors will grow quiet. You will take my wand, stun me and escape. I understand you are able to create a Portkey." She furiously shook her head, denying whatever nonsense he would come with. She wouldn't leave, not now.

Besides, she had made a deal, a wizarding contract, and she didn't want to find out what exactly would happen if she failed to keep her word.

"There is nothing for you to worry about," Snape said, having misread her motives. "You can leave from this room. You won't meet anyone. You are safe."

There was a lot Rebecca worried about, but very little of it concerned her personal safety. And if Snape counted on her being scared, he counted wrong. She wasn't a Gryffindor, but that didn't mean she was a coward, and he of all people should know it. Rebecca closed her expression and her mind and looked Snape in the eye. The only thing he could read in her look now was a resolution.

"Go to bed," he said firmly, as if to persuade himself. "I have some work to do. I'll wake you up in the morning." Rebecca returned to the middle of the bed, but instead of going to sleep, she watched Snape sitting at the desk. He took a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink and a quill from the middle drawer and set to scribbling something. Time to time, he paused, quill hovering over the parchment, and stared at the wall, lost in thought.

Rebecca turned on her belly, still facing Snape, and put both her fists under her chin. She had to make up some plan. Not only she wasn't going to stun Snape in the morning - being pitiful at hexing, she would have to hit him with a chair or something - she wasn't going to leave. But she'd have to talk to Voldemort again and she couldn't tell him Snape was one hundred percent faithful to the Order of the Phoenix. And if Snape didn't relax soon, she'd have to tell him something.

But what?

* * *

Her first boyfriend was two years older, strong, handsome, good with hexes, helpless in Transfiguration and far too eager for her liking. They met in the library, both working on a Transfiguration essay. She was an advanced student for a third year, he lacked the basic knowledge about the subject and couldn't for the life of him finish his assignment.

His name was Mark and he was a Ravenclaw. At first, Rebecca found it strange anyone from Ravenclaw would be such a weak student, but Mark wasn't generally weak and then, even Ravenclaws were allowed to have a flaw or two.

They made friends and started learning together. Before Christmas, they started dating. Mark was quite experienced in the area of love, or as she learned later, in the area of sex. He talked her into taking off her bra before Valentine's Day and he taught her all about making out in two months.

It took him more then four weeks to realise she really wasn't going to give in and sleep with him, but in the middle of May, he dumped her.

She was devastated for thirty-two hours.

Thirty-two hours after being dumped, Rebecca entered the Potions classroom, and being three seconds late, she received a hard stare and a snarky remark and lost ten points for tardiness. Usually, she would have murmured an apology, slightly pink with embarassment. But that day, she felt heat rising all over her body, her heartbeat speeding up, her breathing stopping for what seemed to be an eternity, all of that being the result of Snape's voice.

She failed her potion that day. She couldn't concentrate on anything but the velvet sound, even when it was insulting her for cutting her herbs too roughly or cutting into her for stirring the potion too quickly. At least she knew he had noticed her before, he had known her work minutely, he could tell the difference - even if he had no idea what _made_ the difference.

She was surprised she could hold the knife and the stirring rod at all. She didn't feel solid enough to manage and every word Snape uttered, every spiteful, offending, venomous word made it worse.

She couldn't sleep the night afterwards and in the morning, she had a new quest. She wanted to hear the voice saying nice things to her, and to the hell with Potions, she wanted to hear them from a man, not a teacher.


	4. Don't Wake Me Up

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Checkmate  
Don't Wake Me Up**

* * *

Most of the candles had died away hours ago and Rebecca was still contemplating her possibilities. Snape had spent all the time writing at the desk, never turning back to look at her. So she could watch him, watch the tense line of his shoulders, watch his uneasy shifting, just thinking about what would be if...

Finally she moved. She slid out of the bed and crept behind him. He was holding a blank parchment - if she wanted a proof he was just evading her, she found it - and she started rubbing his neck.

That startled him and he moved to stop her, but she was strong for a girl and he didn't want to hurt her. She slowly massaged his neck and shoulder blades, savouring the so far forbidden feel of his skin. The moment Snape realised this was all she had aimed for he relaxed.

Rebecca wanted to whisper soothing words to go with the dance of her fingers and once again she cursed Voldemort for denying her the weapon of her voice - what had he been thinking anyway? She wouldn't have breathed a word about the contract, no, there were too many things she wanted to say to waste breath like this. She had to bite her tongue to get her anger under control, but she wouldn't let it break the spell she seemed to have gained over Snape.

_Severus._

The desire to communicate her feelings became too great to remain hidden and her touch changed. It was no longer an innocent touch of a young girl. The long lavish strokes grew more and more daring, pushing the heavy fabric of Snape's robes down his shoulders, and Rebecca had to close her eyes to avoid the torturing sight of dangerous flesh - _too early, too quickly, not yet, not quite yet_ - she had to lick her lips, because somehow they had turned as dry as sand. She had spent years waiting, and although those years had trained her in patience, they did nothing to diminish her desire and passion. And as the skin under her palms grew warm and the muscles relaxed, Rebecca herself tensed, and giving in to the temptation eventually, she pressed her mouth to the crook of Snape's neck.

"Miss Garthy..." Perhaps it was supposed to be a stern warning, but it sounded like a groan, nearly whispered in a hoarse voice, and Rebecca felt both triumphant and hurt - hurt, because she had been rejected and she had to wait, wait, just wait.

"Miss Garthy," Snape repeated more firmly and he grabbed her wrists to pull her hands away from his shoulders. He turned to look at her.

His eyes had changed, she decided. And his face had grown even more tired, tense and unhappy. She took a tiny step backwards and let her hand slide down his sleeve, closing her fingers around his wrist. She pulled and he followed her to the bed like in a trance. He hesitated before lying down on the top of the cover, unwilling to take off the rest of his clothes.

Rebecca was unwilling to keep hers on, but she knew she had to play by his rules. At least sometimes. However, she refused to be pushed away to a cold, lonely side of the bed, and she embraced him around the shoulders, careful to keep the touch as chaste as possible.

"Miss..." Snape started once again, but Rebecca put a finger over his lips.

_My name is Rebecca._

He obviously failed to read the message in her eyes, but he let her hold him, and after a while, when he drifted to sleep, he let her tighten her hold gradually and wriggle closer and closer, until she had her limbs snugly entwined with his.

So close, and yet so far away, thought Rebecca and dared to place one hand on Snape's chest. He moved restlessly and mumbled something, but didn't wake up and Rebecca allowed sleep to take her as well.

* * *

Rebecca must have spent last two years dreaming. What she had just heard surely felt like a cold shower, waking her up abruptly. So far, she had thought about Snape, her O.W.L.s, Snape, her little brother, and Snape. But now...

After the terrible reappearence of Harry Potter with the dead body of Cedric Diggory at the pitch, the students had been sent to their respective common rooms. Rebecca, however, had remained in the halls, trying to figure out what had happened. She had seen the Minister coming to the castle with a Dementor and she had followed them from distance to the Defence Against Dark Arts office. Then she had followed the Minister and professors McGonagall and Snape to the hospital wing.

She had eavesdropped on the conversation, hidden under a useful glamour she had learned to avoid a pair of really annoying fellow students, and now she was in a state of shock. She had known Fudge was an idiot, but somehow she had never suspected his idiocy would go so far. She hadn't thought much of Harry Potter before, but now she thought that calling him as sane as Fudge had been an insult to the boy.

And whatever she had thought about Snape before he had stepped forth to show the Dark Mark, it was like a dream now. She had dreamt him to be a great man, closing eyes before his visible faults; now she knew he had been better than that all the time. She had been astonished by his bravery - so much that she had nearly failed to take cover when Bill Weasley had strode past her. But Bill hadn't paid any attention to his surroundings, and neither had the black dog, that had turned out to be Sirius Black, nor Snape, all of them concentrating on their respective missions.

She was still trying to sort all of that out in her head when Dumbledore left the hospital ward. He didn't even look in her direction, and just when she thought he would pass her just like the three men before him, he stopped and said, "Miss Garthy? I would appreciate it if you could come to my office tomorrow morning. And..."

"I won't breathe a word," she answered.

Rebecca took the longest way possible to the Hufflepuff common room and returned long after the curfew. The common room was still unusually busy for the late hour, but she pleaded tired and escaped to her dormitory, where she was lying on her bed, thinking, until the dawn.


	5. Breathing in the Dark

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Checkmate  
Breathing in the Dark**

* * *

Rebecca found Severus in a small garden in the courtyard. There was not much light and all of it seemed to be focused on her former professor. She greeted him with a smile and he called her by her given name.

She knew he was saying her name, although no sound came out of his mouth. She reached out to him, but before they touched, a sound of bells filled the air and Severus pushed her away. She had to run.

She had to run for her life, because her mother had married _the Muggle_ and now they were all officially blood traitors, and run she did. And every turn she took, Severus was waiting for her, silently urging her to hurry up, and every time she passed him to run around another corner, she found him paler and weaker, until after what felt like eternity of running, he was lying on the floor, silent and motionless.

Rebecca fell to her knees and started weeping, but the sound of bells grew louder again and she stood up to stagger around another corner, through another dark passage, passing locked doors on her way. Breathless, she tumbled and fell.

She woke up with a strangled gasp just before her face hit the cold stone floor. She was lying on damp sheets, tangled in a blanket, trembling all over, slowly realising her surroundings. They had moved away from each other in their sleep, and the candles had all been extinguished.

"A bad dream?" Snape asked quietly. An understatement of the year, Rebecca thought. She felt slightly better now that she knew _he_ was alright, but she couldn't stop trembling. She moved off of the damp spot and put her head on Snape's chest. That didn't help much, for over her own heartbeat and heavy breathing she could hardly hear anything. She pressed her lips on Snape's throat, the nearest piece of skin she could reach, to stop herself whimpering. Snape froze at first, but eventually hugged her awkwardly.

Although her need of reassurance was thus satisfied, her thirst for Snape woke anew, and she started kissing, licking and lapping at his throat, neck, face and finally mouth.

"Miss Gar..." There was no way even Snape could finish a sentence with an eager girl determinantly kissing him, and in the dark even Snape's defences grew weaker. Rebecca worked that to her advantage, distracting Snape with her mouth while her fingers pushed away whatever piece of clothing they fell unto.

"Miss..." he tried again the moment Rebecca let go of his lips, but this time he trailed off when she sucked at his nipple, licked it and gently grazed it with her teeth, and pleased with the effect, repeated her ministrations on the other one before setting off on a journey to the nether regions.

There were no more protests when Rebecca sat back to shed Snape's transfigured robes and her own clothes, and when she took him in her mouth, he cried out something incoherent. Rebecca didn't have much experience, neither a plan, but Snape didn't seem to need any finesse. It was all over too quickly and Rebecca, coming back to her senses, laid her head next to Snape's, put a hand on his chest and tried to kiss him.

He turned his head away.

In the dark, she couldn't tell for sure, but he seemed to be ashamed. Apparently he hadn't left the ridiculous "you are in no danger" idea. Rebecca put two fingers under Snape's chin - good thing he seemed to be too tired to turn more than his head - and pulled.

_Severus,_ she scolded lightly when he resisted. He must have heard her thoughts or something, because he let her pull his face close to hers.

"Miss Garthy," he began, "what has just..." Rebecca just knew what he was going to say and kissed him again, this time gently, lovingly. He didn't fight her and even responded in the same manner after a while. They were cuddling for a while and Snape moved half on top of Rebecca. When he pulled off, it was slowly and contentedly.

"I am too old for long nights of passion," he admitted in a whisper and there was a hint of a smirk in his voice. "You should have considered my age earlier."

_You can't get it up and it's all my fault, you mean._

"I hope you will have better dreams this time." They drifted off to sleep again. Rebecca just hoped the idiotic grin she felt on her face would go away before morning.

* * *

The Garthys were an old pureblood family, very important only a century ago, and Suzanne Prince's parents were extremely happy Robert Garthy, one of the two last children of the house, was more than willing to marry their only daughter - the more since they had learned about Robert's cousin's sexual preferences. The pureblood families nowadays always favoured those with children as heirs.

Suzanne got pregnant early after the wedding and gave birth to a healthy girl. They called her Rebecca. Half a year later, the young family announced another baby on the way, and both Princes and Garthys celebrated the news. Then the bad luck struck. Within three months, Reginald Garthy, Robert's father, lost a little fortune due to a bad investment, Suzanne's mother died during an experiment and Robert Garthy was injured while examining the wild life of high mountains. In spite of all the care the Healers could provide, Robert died and two days later, Suzanne miscarried her child.

It would have been a boy.

It took Suzanne more than a year to get over her grief and start talking to other people than her closest family again. Many bachelors were waiting for her by then. She was still quite young, despite the bad investment not poor, and even with the sad, distant expression undeniably beautiful. They were waiting, and they were flirting with her, and she took no notice in either of them until the Christmas party 1980, where by pure chance she met Phius Callagan, and fell in love with him. They got married the next March and exactly a year later, Charles Maximus Callagan was born.

The family seemed very happy. They lived their quiet little life in a newly built house in Southern England and Suzanne wrote regularly brief, but happy letters to her father. No-one suspected anything terrible was going on - but it was. Phius grew accustomed to spending evenings in a local pub and came home later - and louder - every week. He grew more aggressive as well, and behind the walls of the Callagans' house, Suzanne lived in a hell created by her husband. For two years, she managed to hide her bruises from her children, but when Rebecca grew up enough to notice, she started asking questions.

One night, shortly before Rebecca's eighth birthday, Phius hit his step-daughter and something broke in Suzanne.

She hexed him out of the house, packed her belongings and both children and returned to her father. She stopped meeting wizards for years, looking after her children and father, knitting sweaters in the winter and painting roses over the summer. She remained alone when her father died, shying away from company, even going on walks in Muggle towns to avoid the eyes of the wizarding world. That was where she met Ray Hunter, an accountant, divorced, with a son he rarely saw more often than twice a year, and she made friends with him, and despite the strong feelings she held for him, and he for her, they were just friends. They had been both too hurt to rush things, and as Suzanne usually said, too old to haste anywhere.

A twelve-year-old Rebecca didn't understand what there was in a relationship that didn't _move_ anywhere. A fourteen-year-old Rebecca didn't understand how for Merlin's beard could her mother be so happy after _talking_ to the man for a quarter an hour. A sixteen-year-old Rebecca had - or thought she had - all the answers, and yet, having been lectured in the importance of keeping secrets, she couldn't breathe a word.


	6. Close

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Checkmate  
Close**

* * *

The second time Rebecca woke up that morning, she found Severus sitting at his desk. He looked over his shoulder when she sat up, murmured a word that might have been "morning", and hastily finished whatever he had been doing.

Rebecca slid off of the bed and headed for the bathroom. She caressed Severus' back while passing him, and even fleetingly kissed his hair. It _was_ greasy, but before brushing her teeth, Rebecca didn't mind that much.

Before Rebecca returned, Severus had turned the desk into a table and set it for breakfast. Rebecca leaned forward to kiss him and Severus grabbed her wrists this time, forcing her to sit down facing him.

"Miss Garthy," he began in a stern voice. Rebecca, she thought equally sternly. "Miss Garthy, this is a very... unusual situation. For you. You are in the middle of the Dark Lord's headquarters, muted and wandless. I want you to understand the gravity of the situation."

_I want you to hold me like you held me last night. I want you to kiss me again. I want you to touch every inch of my skin and I want to touch every single inch of yours._

"Are you even listening to me?" Severus asked angrily. Rebecca contemplated yelling at him, but decided it would only seem she had lost her mind completely. So she only put a finger on his mouth, shook her head and looked him in the eye.

For an eternity, they were sitting like that - a girl in a scandalous set of robes leaning to a man in black, without a word, without a movement. Rebecca opened her mind, but Severus didn't seem to be interested in it, and Rebecca lost any interest, too, as she was searching the depths of his eyes.

His lips were warm and dry.

Eventually, Severus pulled her hand down from his mouth. He stood up and took a letter from a drawer.

"Have breakfast. There are a few books in that closet. I have... work to be done." And then, a miracle happened - he bent down and kissed her, matter-of-factly. Rebecca prolonged the kiss as long as possible.

"I have work to be done," Severus repeated in a hoarse whisper and quickly left the room. Rebecca smiled.

She spent the day exploring Severus' little library. Most of the books concerned Dark Arts, and Rebecca didn't understand a single line of them, but some described potions, and Rebecca chose one of those - _A Potions Brewer's Guide_ - to kill the boredom.

The book was written very dryly and most of the Hogwarts students would find it boring, but once Rebecca got through the first three chapters, the analysis grew more fascinating, the theory less exhausting and in the end, when she was putting the book back in its place, she wanted a copy, too.

She realised she was hungry. Hours must have passed - was there a clock anywhere? She looked behind curtains covering the walls and discovered a window. It was dark outside, and the moon was already high in the sky, and it was nearing the full moon. It must have been at least half past ten, maybe past eleven, even, Rebecca decided. She let the curtain fall.

Then it hit her - in three days, it would be the full moon. Tomorrow, in two days at most, her time of the month would come. And she was locked in a bachelor's room without any mean of communication.

What in Merlin's name would she do?

A sharp knock at the door woke her up from her reverie. Although it was quite late, it couldn't be Severus coming back - he wouldn't knock at his own door, would he? Not even if he knew there was a girl inside. But should she answer? Who could it be, anyway? She couldn't even call out and ask for the guest's name. She decided to try the door - there was still a good chance Severus had locked it.

It turned out he hadn't. The tall figure of Lord Voldemort swept in and Rebecca closed the door.

_What if there was a spell preventing anybody coming in without an invitation? What if Severus hid something important in this room? No - he would be more careful than that, making sure no-one save him could disable whatever protection of whatever secret there was._

"How are things going? I noticed Severus seemed to be more content today." Rebecca closed her mind the best she could before facing him. She lifted one eyebrow in an ironic way then. One wave of Voldemort's wand later, she was free to answer.

"He was surprised. I like to think I didn't disappoint him." Rebecca chose her words carefully, only hinting and never lying outright. That should make Voldemort happy, for he would conclude she was saying what he wanted to hear, and leave it at it.

"Why should you disappoint him?" Voldemort asked.

"Lack of experience," Rebecca uttered.

"Such a pretty girl like you..." The look he gave her then made her shiver - not in a good way - and Rebecca realised he was a man, too - or something very similar to a man - and she was completely at his mercy. But Voldemort turned to the door.

"Since everything is going smoothly, I will leave you to your... preparations. Oh, and Severus will be coming home late tonight, and he will be quite exhausted, so take good care of him."

"There's something I need," Rebecca piped before he could Silence her again. Vodlemort paused, his wand mid-air.

"Oh. What is it?" Rebecca felt heat rising to her cheeks. But she had to ask for it - it might have been her only chance.

"Erm - I... the thing is. I need..." It was very hard to ask _the Dark Lord_ to get her feminine products, and she wasn't sure she'd get the message accross before her period actually started. "I... well, I'm going to need feminine, you know, products before the end of the week," she managed to mumble in the end.

Voldemort seemed to be still waiting for her explanation.

"I'm about to have my period," she blurted out, all red. Voldemort's expression remained the same - a clueless man or being or whatever he was. Completely clueless.

"You know, cramps," she tried in vain. "My time of the month."

"Are you a werewolf?"

"What- No! Just a... a woman." The look of innocent ignorance would be priceless if Rebecca wasn't in danger of spending next week in the tube. A simple spell cast regularly would take care of everything - the discomfort, hygiene, pain in her back - but she _couldn't cast a spell_ and to top that, she couldn't even go and buy sanitary towels as she had used to do before she had mastered the spell. But there must have been a way, and she asked, "Is there a woman among your... people... I could talk to?"

"What about?" _Great - now it shows he's also dumb!_

"My problem. My _feminine_ problem. She would understand me." And get her some accessories.

"Oh. I shall send one of my women, then. Anything else before I go?"

"Well, I haven't eaten since morning."

"That's a shame. You should eat to keep your strength." He cast a spell non-verbally. "I've modified the spell so you could talk to women." Rebecca actually wanted to thank him - but discovered she couldn't.

_Does this prove he _is_ a man?_

* * *

Most of that ugly business with Dolores Umbridge went pass Rebecca. She had nearly failed her Defense O.W.L.s, and even if she hadn't, she wouldn't take it anyway. She had passed Transfiguration well enough to take the N.E.W.T. course, and besides, there were these Occlumency lessons with Professor Dumbledore.

He had told her it would be necessary for her to learn to close her mind, since she had known so much. He had also told her that Professor Snape had been one of the greatest Occlumenses of his generation. Rebecca had loved the old man dearly for the comment. Most people wouldn't say a good thing about Snape to save themselves lifetimes at Azkaban.

During their lessons, Dumbledore once commented that she, too, had an exceptional talent for Occlumency.

Dumbledore's disappearing made her angry. Little was known about the reasons, a lot was being told and most of it concerned that Harry Potter boy in one way or another.

At first sight, Potter looked like an ordinary boy his age: all ruffled, emotional, very angry for no reason Rebecca could track. But there was something odd about him, and Rebecca didn't believe all what the Slytherins said; this was a fifteen-year-old boy, a student. Rebecca contemplated he had witnessed Lord Voldemort's return the year before that, the boy had fought with him and then with the Ministry - well, the Slytherins were just being stupid.

With that, Rebecca closed the topic, and for the purposes of exercise, her mind.

* * *

**A/N: **Since I believe Tom Riddle never had the opportunity to experience _living_ with a woman, and since he was born before the advertisement BOOM in TV could affect him, I claim he simply doesn't have a clue! (a bit stretched, but hey - he could, couldn't he? ;))  
I often notice how little these things get in way in films and books. The women in stories somehow evade their cycles - or at least the disadvantages.


	7. Gifts and Burdens

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Checkmate  
Gifts and Burdens**

* * *

Severus did, indeed, come back very late that night. Rebecca, who had fallen asleep some time past midnight, tried her best to make him feel welcome, and didn't even feel offended when he practically passed out during her long and loving foreplay. She couldn't really complain: they woke up in the midday, entwined so close they couldn't even determine who was the first one to wake up and rouse the other.

They got up silently. Severus obviously didn't feel the need to speak, and Rebecca was deeply sorry for that. The silence was driving her crazy. She let the sheets and the blanket breathe and followed Severus into the bathroom.

He was already sitting in the tube and she shed her clothes soundlessly behind his back. He was startled when she slid in the warm water behind him and shifted uneasily when her skin pressed to his. Rebecca took the sponge from Severus' hand and washed his back for him. She traced the hard lines on his back - so tense - and pressed her lips to his skin.

He started, at first, and Rebecca took full advantage of it: seized his shoulders, wrapped her legs around his waist and tasted every inch of the skin she could reach. It was bitter, but she didn't stop to analyse what he had added to the bath. Instead, she bit at the crane of his neck, just hard enough not to break the skin.

He twisted and tried to reach for her. She had nowhere to escape and after a short playful struggle she ended up in her former professor's lap.

If he had been going to say anything, this had wasted his efforts, as he realised they were both naked, groin to groin, sitting in the warm scented water. To get up and flee from the tube and the bathroom would require pushing Rebecca away, and she wouldn't allow that easily. Before Severus could come up with any excuse, Rebecca pressed the length of her body to him and kissed him.

Before they broke up for air, all thoughts of inappropriate, unwise or immoral behaviour fled from Severus' head, and all that remained was the heat of a lean and aroused young girl in his arms and basic instinct that wouldn't let him stop now, even if he thought of it.

His doubts returned later. Rebecca was resting her head on his shoulder, hands unconsciously rubbing his flanks and thighs, quite content and unbothered. The water was slowly cooling off, and Severus reached for his wand to warm it up again. There was something precious about the moment and Severus wanted to savour it for as long as he could, fearing whatever it was making him feel that way, it could be taken away from him abruptly.

Rebecca was only eighteen, he mused, and although her acting suggested she was somewhat experienced in the field of sex, he highly doubted her experience involved relationship with a double agent running high risks every day.

And running late _this_ day, Severus realised with a frown.

"I have to go," he said and gently pushed Rebecca away. She looked at him, nodded and sat back. As generous as she was in letting him get out of her physical reach, she wouldn't let him escape her presence. He felt her eyes following every his movement when he was drying himself and getting dressed and it made heat rise to his cheeks. He was aware of his looks, of his too thin body, yellowish complexion, greasy hair, and he was half expecting to see Rebecca disgusted when he turned back to her. But she didn't seem so: her eyes were kind and warm and she was smiling at him.

"I shall return late tonight," he said carefully, keeping himself distant. Rebecca sat upright and watched him patiently, waiting for him to say whatever he wanted to say. Severus watched her warily. She seemed to be a dangerous creature, though she hadn't given him a reason to believe she would _want_ to cause him any harm. Her breasts got above the water and Severus found he had no idea what he had wanted to say.

"Have a nice day," he muttered lamely and bent to kiss her goodbye. After what they had just done, he mused, it would by hypocritical not to.

Rebecca used the opportunity to communicate her joyous mood. In the end, Severus had to grab her wrists and pull them away from his now drenched shoulders.

"As much as I appreciate your friendliness," he said curtly, "I dried myself before I got dressed in order to keep my robes decent." Rebecca laughed. They were still decent, and a quick charm fixed them nicely.

Once alone, Rebecca quickly washed herself. She found a set of clean robes prepared for her use, and decided to wait for the elf who had provided them - apparently in the minute Rebecca had spent with soap all over her head and eyes firmly shut. She wrapped herself in a towel and sat down on the rim of the tube.

It took the elf twenty minutes to appear, but at the sight of the creature Rebecca concluded it was worth the waiting. Because it was a female elf, and with the muting spell modified...

"Hello, nice to see you. Let's have a talk about my choice of clothes, for starters," Rebecca suggested and her own voice, though a bit roughened by the long disuse, sounded heavenly to her.

An hour later Rebecca left the bathroom dressed in a warm set of robes, carrying a carefully chosen collection of definitively female clothes over her arm. She felt deeply disgusted by the house elf and she finally understood why almost every wizard who took notice of house elves at all disliked them: here was a being gifted with reason and magical powers exceeding those of humans, and yet it was not only enslaved by a pathetic caricature of humanity, it was _happy_ to be enslaved. And that happiness Rebecca couldn't understand at all.

She opened the closet Snape kept his own robes in, pushed all the black fabric to one side and hung her new ones. A merry tune found its way to her lips and she hummed happilly while waiting for the elf to bring her breakfast she had requested.

"Nice to see you like your accomodation," a harsh voice drawled from the doors. Rebecca spun around to see a tall woman with long hair and very dark eyes. There was a malevolent glitter in those eyes and an unpleasant smile curved the thin lips. The woman had been a real beauty once, and was still attractive, although something in her face spoke of horrors no amount of rest and cosmetics could wash away. Rebecca recognised her at once, and braced herself to be able to bear whatever torture Bellatrix Lestrange meant to bring upon her.

Not a real torture, Rebecca assured herself quickly, she couldn't do that - not right under Voldemort's nose, could she?

"It's better than it seemed at the first sight," Rebecca retorted coolly.

"The Dark Lord asked me to come and help you with a... delicate problem," Lestrange said, stepping in and moving slowly further into the room, not directly towards Rebecca.

"My period will start in a day or two," Rebecca explained bluntly. Lestrange wanted to make the discussion as unpleasant as possible, but she couldn't get anywhere near Voldemort on the account... and topic.

"Feeling a bit furry, are we?" Lestrange continued. Rebecca bit down her anger. Sometimes it was really painful to have one's period tied so firmly to the moon cycle.

"More like female," Rebecca clarified. "And I wouldn't like to have my blood everywhere, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, a simple charm can take care of that - surely it isn't too difficult for you to learn?" Lestrange must have known Rebecca didn't have a wand and it was clear she enjoyed every bit of discomfort Rebecca showed immensely.

"I can't do it wandlessly," Rebecca forced through gritted teeth.

"Would you like a wand for the occassion?" Lestrange offered with a queer expression. Rebecca sensed a trap. Nevertheless, she couldn't help watching the wand that appeared in Lestrange's hand longingly. "But only if you're a good girl," Lestrange added, as she held the wand for Rebecca to take.

Rebecca considered declining the offer straight away, as it couldn't be meant seriously, but she missed magic so much she put aside her doubts and reached for the thin wooden stick that could allow her to rejoice with her talent.

It didn't explode when she touched it and she even felt that magical tickling - not as strongly as with her own wand, but beggars can't be choosers. Feeling Lestrange's scrutinising look upon her, she gave the wand a tentative wave.

Lestrange burst into laughter and Rebecca let out a startled yelp as the wand turned into a writhing snake. She threw the animal on the bed and looked at Lestrange, eyes on fire.

"Are you going to help me as Voldemort asked you to, or do I have to wait for someone else?" she snapped angrily. "I'm sure he has more female followers than just you."

"How dare you say his name," Lestrange hissed.

"I call him Voldemort all the time and he never minds," Rebecca shot back. "Can't tell how much he wouldn't mind you not doing as you were told." For a moment she thought she had gone too far with that, but then a shadow of wild fear crossed Lestrange's face. It didn't seem to be a very good idea to disobey Voldemort, even if one belonged to his most trusted.

"I'll get you something today," came the cross answer, and with a hateful glance Lestrange swept out of Severus' rooms.

* * *

The moment Slughorn became the Hogwarts Potions Master was cherished by every single seventh-year Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor who took Potions and didn't take Defence with the only exception.

Rebecca missed the tall figure, velvet-like voice, even harsh remarks - even insults. She had planned to use her last year at Hogwarts to her advantage, but now she couldn't. She had promissed Dumbledore she wouldn't seek her beloved professor outside of the class before she would finish the school, but she had had plans for her last year's Potions classes - all marred!

She disliked Horace Slughorn. She found him slippery and manipulative and detested his way of teaching. Whenever she saw her schoolmates, fortunate enough to have been admitted to the N.E.W.T.-level Defence, heading for the class, jealousy overpowered her and she hated Slughorn for simply being alive.

She had had plans for her last year, sweet Merlin, good plans of slowly gaining Snape's attention, so that he wouldn't want to let her slip away at the end of the June. But now, as she wasn't allowed to speak to him, she couldn't carry them out.

In the dead of the night, she was furious with Dumbledore for manipulating her into this position. She was sure he had known he would allow Snape to get his desired position that year, he must have known the last time they had talked to each other before the summer - but he had never released her from her oath, and though the way in which he avoided looking her in the eye suggested he felt guilty about it, she didn't dare breaking her word.

Until the last Thursday before the Christmas break, Rebecca nursed her anger and disgust. But she received an invitation to Dumbledore's office at breakfast, and when she looked up to the staff table, the old wizard returned her gaze with gravity she had never seen him show before.

"Take a seat, my dear," he gestured without his usual merriness when she entered his office shortly before midnight. "I am deeply sorry for keeping you out of bed so long, but there is a little mess you should know about."

Rebecca felt the blood in her veins freezing. No doubt the mess was anything but little - and no doubt Snape was deep in it. Dumbledore took in her pale face and wide eyes and pushed a cup of hot tea towards her.

"I'm afraid our friend got himself in a highly unpleasant situation," he started, eyes fixed upon her face, ready to stop if the news became too much for an eighteen-year-old. But Rebecca listened without as much as adverting her eyes, and she learnt all about the Vow Snape had made, as well about the task he had thus taken upon his shoulders, which turned out to be a murder of the very wizard sitting before her.

"I want you to remember, Rebecca," Dumbledore said imploringly, "that Severus is no murderer - and he will be no murderer by the end of this year, whatever will happen." The gravity of Dumbledore's voice scared Rebecca. Surely there was another way - a way around the Vow - couldn't Narcissa Malfoy release Severus?

Being a pureblood, she knew there was no way except for Mrs. Malfoy's mercy - but what mercy could the woman show, if possibly the only person she cared for in the world could pay dearly for her pity?

The thought of her love dying because of the Vow was unbearable. But to think he would kill Dumbledore, lest Malfoy junior would manage - and who was she kidding, that Malfoy offspring was a backboneless creature - to think of Dumbledore dead... Rebecca put her head in her heads and moaned pitifully. The great wizard was instantly at her side.

"It has been decided," Dumbledore reassured her. "And the decision wasn't yours to make. We are in a war, Rebecca, not only for our own lives, but also for lives of thousands defenceless Muggles, and sacrifices are necessary. Perhaps you will understand in time." She didn't want to understand. Their game was poorly started, with already too few pieces in their colours, and now they were going to sacrifice their strongest piece willingly?

"And there is something else I want you to keep through the war." Dumbledore returned to his side of the desk, unlocked its lower drawer with a complicated spell and retrieved a small crystal flask from it.

Being a pureblood, she realised it was a memory.

"When this war is over, and should Severus be still alive, as I hope, he will have to be cleared. Here is a proof that will be required." He put the flask in her numb hands and closed her fingers around it. "I have prepared more of them and placed them in careful and friendly hands. But no-one else knows what they contain, Rebecca, you are the only one beside Severus himself I can trust to keep the secret hidden from Voldemort. You will guard the secret - and the memory - won't you, Rebecca?" She couldn't bear his gaze, suddenly extremely intent, without closing her mind, and when Dumbledore smiled, she realised she had passed a final test.

She would keep the flask with the precious memory safe, she vowed silently. She would give her own life, she promised to herself, if necessary, to preserve the little flask. Yes, she would willingly die... Her head shot up, eyes wide, mouth gaping.

The time in which she was to understand arrived.

* * *

**A/N:** I wanted to get Dumbledore's wounded hand somewhere in the picture, since they spent enough time in close proximity for Rebecca to notice, but I guess she was too anxious and bewildered (I've been reading old English books lately, does it show a lot? ;)) to notice anything smaller than an explosion of the Hogwarts.


	8. Terrible and Terrific

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Checkmate  
Terrible and Terrific**

* * *

Rebecca turned to the bed and found the fake wand had regained its original form. She threw it in the closet and made the bed. Before the elf arrived with her breakfast, she rummaged through Severus' books, looking in vain for a title that would catch her fancy. She ended up with a thin old book debating pros and cons of the most used defensive spells. Reading made her sleepy, as she didn't understand a word of it, but she was too restless to actually fall asleep, and her mood dropped with every passing minute.

Lestrange appeared at the dusk, bringing three packages of sanitary towels. She didn't utter a word and Rebecca didn't mind. She felt bored, but not that much.

Half an hour later, a soft knock on the door roused her. Rebecca closed her mind.

"I thought you might like a change of air," Voldemort explained and offered Rebecca his arm. She didn't dare refuse, even if she felt like refusing.

Surely he wouldn't keep her too long?

He led her back to the room where they had been playing chess three days ago. A game was set and they took their places. Voldemort didn't talk, save for several curt remarks, and Rebecca tried her best to enjoy the unexpected amusement. The behaviour of the so called Dark Lord was creepy, but she preferred it to the boredome.

She lost. Voldemort seemed a bit disappointed, but walked her back to Severus' rooms in silence. He scrutinised her appearance before letting her go inside and once again, Rebecca felt highly uncomfortable under his gaze. She had to restrain herself from fleeing in the relative safety of the room.

"Has Bellatrix helped you with your problem?" Voldemort asked just before Rebecca could close the door behind her. She nodded and politely waited.

"Good," was the short reply and she was released.

Rebecca darted for the bathroom. She felt dirty and longed for at least a short wash before Severus came. She managed just in time, meeting her lover still draped in the towel.

Most of her uneasiness fell off of her as they kissed. She tried to manipulate them on the bed, but Severus resisted. His hands gripped her hips, as he held himself back, and breathing heavily, whispered:

"Have a mercy. I haven't eaten all day." Rebecca showed enough mercy for him to escape to the bathroom and tried to figure out how to attract the house elf's attention so that she could arrange for a dinner.

The elf helped her out when she popped in front of her. Rebecca, happy to see the closed door were enough to keep the silencing charm out of her way, ordered a little feast and chose a fine set of robes to wear for the occassion.

Severus' eyes nearly fell out of his head when he saw her sitting at the desk clad in merrily-coloured fabric. The robes revealed just enough for his mind to start wander and he let Rebecca show her affection in the most embarassing ways simply because he couldn't concentrate for long enough to stop her. He was fed that night, cuddled, petted and taken care of, all done by a charming nymph with the most seductive smile.

When the elf disposed of the empty plates, however, and Severus reached out to claim what he had after all learnt to be his, Rebecca's expression switched to a sour one. She evaded his outstretched arms, took something from the closet and disappeared in the bathroom. When she returned, her smile and playfullness were gone. She went straight to bed, where she curled up and sighed unhappilly.

"Is anything the matter?" Severus asked her. She shook her head. "Have I done anything wrong?" Again, she shook her head. A gasp escaped her and Severus drew her into an embrace. One look at the hands clutching her stomach gave him a clue.

"Are you sick?" he asked to confirm it. "Or is it..." Rebecca nodded, relieved she didn't have to draw him a picture.

Immediately, she started wondering where he had learnt about it. Had she been fine, she would have concluded it was a result of years of teaching at a boarding school, not to mention being a head of house. But she was in a foul mood and in pain and everything seemed black to her. She could see no other explanation than another woman, and instantly she became jealous of her.

The warmth of the body next to her disappeared and she felt extremely lonely. Then a gentle hand pulled at her shoulder.

"Here, have a pain relieving potion - most of the young Slytherin girls found it useful in this condition." Severus shifted uncomfortably. "I had to get rid of them somehow," he answered her disbelieving stare.

Severus Snape, the feared Head of Slytherin House, said to be evil and cruel, had brewed pain relieving potions for his students too young to take care of their discomfort themselves? If the school - that is, the other three houses - ever heard of it, they wouldn't believe.

Too late she realised there must have been a drop of some sleeping draught in the mixture. Drowsily, she let Severus help her under the blanket and having been relieved of the throbbing pain in her lower abdomen, back and long bones, she fell asleep.

* * *

Usually, Rebecca would stay at Hogwarts for the Easter holidays, but that year, when she was fourteen, Charlie came down with a tiresome cold, wanted to go home and Rebecca decided to go with him to take care of him during the long ride. Personally, Rebecca believed Charlie had been more homesick than sick: it was his first year at Hogwarts and he had been extremely teary when they had returned from the Christmas break. But she didn't mind that much. He would grow up from it, and besides, he was fairly good with a broom, so there was a fine chance he would make it to the Quidditch team next year, make enough friends and forget about getting ill and going home.

As their mother was busy tending to her poor, suffering child, brewing potions to relieve him, making hot tea and reading stories, Rebecca ran the errands. The evening when she was returning from a family friend, whom she had been visiting on a mission for a different book of children stories, became unforgettable.

It wasn't because of anything as pleasant as the young flowers by the pavement, freshly green leaves on the bushes or the birds' chirping coming from the trees. It was because of the man who sprang at her from the cover of the bushes, took her by her neck and dragged her back among the branches.

Rebecca's eyes filled with tears of pain. She tried to cry out, but the man gripped her throat too tightly; she couldn't even breathe and the lack of oxygen made her panic. She started thrashing around and the man laughed.

He pressed her down on the ground and pinned her with his body. His breath smelt terribly. Rebecca stopped moving, trying to see her captor, but it was already dark and the streetlamps didn't penetrate the cover of the bushes.

"Now be good, girl, an' I won't hurt ya," the man mumbled. Holding her wrists in one hand, he started unbuttoning her sweater with the other one. Rebecca had never felt that frightened in her all life - not even when her step-father had hit her. The dirty hand touched her skin, pulled at her dress to reach her breasts, the man let go of her hands to reach somewhere else... she could feel his fingers scratching against her thigh.

Rebecca lost her wits completely and started thrashing again. The man caught her quite easily, but something unexpected woke in Rebecca: as she lost the control of herself, her magic sprung to her defence.

"Ow!" the man jumped up in surprise. Rebecca caught glimpse of his face, wild eyes, large rounded nose and a rash spreading quickly all over his skin.

She didn't wait to see whether the man suffered from anything more serious than the rash. She scrambled through the bushes back to the pavement and ran all the way back home, where she collapsed in her mother's lap and cried hysterically for half an hour.

A letter from the Ministry arrived and she had to go there and explain. She felt ashamed, but the witch trying her was very nice and sympathetic, and in the end she left feeling much better.

She didn't tell her boyfriend Mark, though she had pulled herself together before coming back and was able to speak about the incident. Mark never knew the difference, even, and continued his happy journey under her skirts up to the fine May day when he realised he wouldn't succeed in getting there.

And thirty-two hours later, Rebecca forgot all about bushes, darkness and stinking men.


	9. Up and Down

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.

I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Checkmate  
Up and Down**

* * *

For three days, Rebecca remained edgy, snarky - as much as she could without talking - and altogether unpleasant. Severus didn't know how to handle the situation and evaded her as much as _he_ could when not being assigned to any mission at the time. During the third afternoon, he was confronted with Voldemort, who expressed his worries about Rebecca - had he possibly tired of her?

Severus, horrified that the girl could be punished for his inability to stand her moodiness, denied that and admitted the true nature of the problem.

"She mentioned she needed assistance with some kind of a monthly trouble," Voldemort replied, frowning. "I thought Bellatrix took care of that."

Severus, who had run accross a bunch of terribly adolescent girls - adolescent and terrible in the giggling, pinkish, absolutely unbearable way - during the very first year of his teaching, and had had to deal with the matter with practically no experience, realised what was the only thing Bellatrix could have helped Rebecca with.

"There is no way to get rid of it altogether," he tried to explain. "It will pass away on its own before the end of the week. It would have been much worse without Bellatrix' help."

"I only hope the disease is not contagious," Voldemort said disapprovingly.

"What? No, it..." and Severus imagined talking to the Dark Lord about details of female anatomy, "it isn't."

After the conversation he returned to his rooms, where he was confronted with a very asocial beast in the form of his lover, disappeared in the bathroom, located the small packages that had mysteriously appeared there three days before that, and in a Muggle disguise he bravely endured a visit to a local supermarket, where his appearance caused a lot of giggling and pointing on the side of the young female employees - he refused to call them shop assistants as they never offered him any assistance. Luckily, another man, who happened to be sent to the shop for the same product by his wife, seemed as lost as Severus himself, and it turned out Muggle men were only vaguely aware of the existence of sanitory pads and tampons, as the Muggle said, and were quite clueless when any crisis made them go out and buy them.

The Muggle was too friendly for Severus' liking, but for the sake of the success of his mission he remained polite during their conversation. The Muggle raised his eyebrows at the sight of variety of types and brands Severus chose.

"It's for my daughter," Severus invented quickly. "Her first time. My wife died years ago," he lied smoothly and adopted a very dark expression which made the Muggle quite sympathetic.

"It must be very hard to raise a child on your own," he commented akwardly at the checkout.

"She's a dear," Severus assured him and put his shopping in a bag. "My sweet girl." He remembered the sweet kisses that had made his head spin, the taste of Rebecca's skin in the dead of the night, the sweetness of her smile...

"Well, she won't stay like that forever, probably," the man went on as he was packing his shopping, considerably greater in amount that Severus' as it included also common groceries. "Our eldest, Margaret, was the sweetest little girl in the world before she hit puberty last year. She's uncontrollable sometimes - and to think we have two more girls! I'm sure they will give us more trouble than Jason, and he's a menace already... What's your daughter's name, anyway?" The Muggle turned to address his new acquaintance but found him gone.

"Probably gone straight home to soothe his girl," he explained to the girl at the checkout, who smiled politely.

Severus had, indeed, gone straight home to his girl. By the time the Muggle was leaving the supermarket, he was standing at his bed, having turned his shopping bag upside down. Rebecca stared at him.

"You'll never have to ask Bellatrix Lestrange for anything again," he said firmly. "When you run out, just tell me. That is, show me which one you'd prefer." Rebecca embarassed him by throwing herself around his neck and bursting in tears. He didn't know what to do - the physical contact he liked, the tears not so much. The emotional breakdown didn't last for long - fortunately - and Rebecca reemerged smiling. She smoothed his hair and petted his face until he had to pull her away, lest he should lose his mind.

"Listen, this will not go on forever. You can talk to me when it's over," he promised, hoping to get a moment for himself in the bathroom.

But for Rebecca, he had just won the title "Hero of the World" for the second time that day, and she could do nothing else than throw herself around his neck again.

"Miss... Garthy..." he gasped and she realised. With a mischievious glint in her eyes she pushed him backwards on the bed, among the brightly coloured packets, and went down on him with no hesitance, no shame and no restraints. Then she surprised him by falling asleep in his arms with a happy smile playing around her lips, which Severus would have found more becoming on his own features.

Rebecca awoke late in the night, when Severus was already sleeping, and Severus left before she woke again in the morning. When he returned, just in time for dinner, he found her smiling and pleasant, her moodiness gone. Whether it was simply due to the time's passing, or because of his own actions, which Rebecca seemed to value so much, he couldn't tell - and couldn't care.

Days passed quietly and peacefully after that. Severus brought Rebecca a collection of books that he thought might interest her - and she was surprised to see how accurate his guess had been. He also became easy around her. Apparently he had thrown any reasonable thoughts to the wind, accepting the situation as it had been laid out by Voldemort, and accepting Rebecca as she was offering herself.

Days remained dull and grey, but Merlin!, the nights they shared! Having put aside any restraints, the seemingly dark wizard, traitor and a double agent opened to the mute girl. Severus never talked about what he was doing during the days, but he let Rebecca take him in her arms in the evening and melt any mask he could be wearing during hot foreplay, which usually cast his tiredness away... temporarily. Rebecca, in her turn, never tried to figure out what he was doing outside his rooms, living in blissful ignorance of the horrors of the war that continued in the wizarding world. She was absorbed in her love so much she never thought outside of the four walls she was locked in, and if it weren't for Voldemort's weekly visits, she would have completely forgotten about anything but Severus. More than a month had passed and nothing had changed in her little world.

However, the war presented itself on her doorstep in the form of Warden Macnair, bringing in an odour of alcohol when he kicked the door open.

"Letsh shee what we have here," he slurred, eyes fixed at Rebecca, before he kicked the door closed behind him and advanced on the girl.

She was wearing an extraordinary frivolous set of robes in hopes of getting Severus wild the moment he entered. Now it made wild Macnair, and she was aware of it, as she was backing away from him until there was no further to back. He stopped in front of her, pressing her shoulders into the closet that stood behind her.

"Do you know me?" he asked. She did - she had seen his picture in the papers - but she didn't even attempt to answer. She was too frightened to move at all.

"Do you know who I am, you bitch?" This time he slapped her, hard, and tears burst out of her eyes. He swayed a little, but Rebecca didn't notice.

Macnair decided to lay her on the bed, but when he roughly pulled at her arms, Rebecca awoke from her stupor and started twisting wildly. He tried to press her against the closet, but in his drunken state he slipped and pulled them both to the floor.

The weight on her body and the smell reminded Rebecca of the night when she had been attacked by a Muggle rapist. She panicked. If Macnair had been sober, she would have stood no chance against the stronger man, but the alcohol clouded his mind and made his movements sloppy. While trying to stop the girl thrashing around, he hit the closet accidentally and the door opened. A set of robes slipped and fell on his head.

In the few seconds when Macnair fought the robes instead of her, Rebecca felt a stick under her hand. She gripped it hard, and the moment Macnair's head reappeared, she stuck it in his eye.

He roared with pain and angst, and sat up and started swearing, promising Rebecca all kinds of violence as retribution. She didn't wait for him to carry out his threats, having pulled herself together enough to slip out of his grip, grab a chair and bash his head with it. He dropped to the floor and Rebecca turned to flee.

She stopped five minutes later, in a part of the fortress she didn't recognise, suddenly realising she wasn't supposed to be out of Severus' rooms.

* * *

Suzanne Prince Garthy Callagan believed herself to be a steady, reasonable woman, who had already endured all kind of unpleasantries and could not therefore be surprised by a misfortunate event.

She realised how wrong she had been the moment her two beloved children went missing. And not only missing - by all tracks that could be found, her little girl and little boy had disappeared in the Forbidden Forest, a place dangerous enough without a dark wizard and his troops running loose.

She cried every night before she fell asleep, every single night of the sixteen, until Professor McGonagall appeared at her threshold, bringing her back her son. She cried even harder then; but these were tears of joy and happiness and brought her relief.

When Charlie went to have a good long bath, Professor McGonagall told Suzanne the little that was known. Her daughter had, apparently, made some kind of a deal with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, about which they would try to find more. The hard lines around McGonagall's mouth and the worried look in her eyes spoke of possible nature of such a deal. Suzanne herself, even if not being involved in the war directly, was aware of the existence of dark spells that required a willing sacrifice, and knowing her daughter better than anybody else, she couldn't deny Rebecca _would_ sacrifice herself for the sake of eight smaller children.

And a terrible, un-motherlike thought occured to her: without thinking about the consequences to the war, the danger to the rest of the wizarding people.

Would she, herself, realising that, _not_ sacrifice her life for those of her children? Wouldn't _anybody?_

Professor McGonagall left, unsatisfied, presumably to look up all such spells, presumably to try to determine which one You-Know-Who would choose, presumably to try and stop him somehow. Suzanne locked the door and went to check on Charlie, who had gone to bed in the meantime. He was wide awake, waiting for her.

"Oh, my dear..." she started, but he interrupted.

"Becca sends you something." He held out a brass phial. "She told me to give you this. I th- think," he sniffed, "it's im- important." Suzanne took the phial. It was a container, she realised, Rebecca had used to hide her mascara in when she had been younger and had been forbidden to wear make-up. If she pulled out the stopper, she would find a soft girlish perfume in it, but if she unlocked it with Alohomora, the phial would reveal its true contents.

"Mum," Charlie sobbed, "she'll be allright, won't she? She'll be alright..." Suzanne took the boy in her arms and told him that of course she would, why wouldn't she? The boy was too young to know about the ancient magic that willing sacrifices could rouse and believed her with all his heart. Despite that, Suzanne had to give him a drop of the Draught of Peace for him to be able to fall asleep, and she remained sitting at his bedside for hours, just watching his serene face, his boyish chest rising and dropping, just holding his hand and occassionally brushing his hair.

It was past midnight when she finally left his bedroom and put the phial on the kitchen table. It probably contained something important, maybe even a clue about what was to happen with Rebecca. But Rebecca might have only sent her something to let her know she loved her, and that would mean she had seen no way to meet her mother again.

Briskly, to stop such thoughts, Suzanne cast Alohomora and with a soft popping sound, the phial opened.

There was a flask in it, a crystal flask containing a cloud of silvery mist.

A memory.

There was a very little chance Rebecca would have been allowed, let alone able, to retrieve a memory of her own head and store it in a flask she would send to safety with the children. This, she must have kept for a longer time. She must have kept it secret and believed it very important, and for a moment, Suzanne wanted to hurl it against the wall and let it be gone for good. For if this was the last thing her daughter ever sent her, it was terribly impersonal and cold.

Then she composed herself. She retrieved a Pensieve from its place in an ancient wardrobe. There were already several memories in there, swirling, and Suzanne regarded them with disgust.

Although she knew how to evade slipping from one memory to another involuntarily in the Pensieve, she took a large jar she had prepared for the summer jam-making and stored her ugly memories in it. She poured the memory into the empty Pensieve, took a deep breath and bent over the surface.

Fifteen minutes later, she returned, crying once again. The memory was truly important, and to think her daughter had been trusted to keep it safe made her unbelievably proud. Also, to know that her cousin's son - and her daughter's beloved, for the mother's heart could only hardly be deceived - was neither a traitor nor a murderer, lifted her spirits. And a wild hope appeared: would Severus let her know? Would he remember her, his distant relative, and would he send her a message, whatever brief, to let her know about her daughter's fate?

Was he possibly the means to find more about the deal Rebecca had made? Or were there two infiltrants among You-Know-Who's ranks? Both thoughts were comforting, each in its own way.

And the tiniest sparkle of light brought by the faintest hope of all: Would he help Rebecca if there was a way? Would he, possibly, save her life?

Suzanne clung to the hope with all her might.


	10. The Tiny Sparkle of Light

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.

I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Checkmate  
The Tiny Sparkle of Light**

* * *

Rebecca stepped closer to the wall, pressing her back to the cold surface. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself down.

_Think._

She couldn't go back - the man might wake up any moment and she really, really didn't want to meet his wrath. But she couldn't just stay here. When found, she may be given just seconds to persuade the Death Eater in question she had had to leave the room.

She realised there was something in her sleeve. It was the fake wand. She slipped it further up.

It would be best, she decided, to be found by Voldemort himself. He would seek the answer in her mind and he would trust what he would find there. All she had to do...

She heard something echoing from behind a door nearby. Creeping closer, she peeked into what seemed to be a vast hall, illuminated by floating torches. Whoever was moving inside remained hidden in the shadows. No - there! She could see a faint silhouette pass between two pillars and when she tried really hard, she could make out a human figure operating in the shadows. She couldn't tell who it was, but by the clothing she could guess who it was not.

It was not a Death Eater.

She slipped into the hall and edged around the bookshelves covering the wall, half-hidden behind the row of pillars that supported a gallery running around three of the walls. The last wall held only a small balcony, reminding Rebecca of a pulpit she had seen in a Muggle Studies textbook ages ago (this March, it was only this March). Someone emerged from a door in the back of the balcony, a person in black robes, and started descending the stairs. Rebecca glanced across the hall. The non-death-eater figure there was leaning to a pillar, discussing something with two another non-death-eater figures, one of which sported flaming red hair.

That Harry Potter boy had a red-haired friend, hadn't he? And they always stuck to a Muggleborn girl.

Bets on who it was, hiding in the shadows in the middle of Voldemort's lair?

The trio was unaware of the Dark Lord approaching the middle of the hall, from where they could be spotted quite easily. Rebecca couldn't warn them, but there was one thing she could do and she made up her mind immediately.

She crept back to the door and sprung herself out of the cover, panting. She ran straight to Voldemort and threw herself around his neck, clutching at his robes and sobbing hysterically the best she managed. Nausea threatened to take over, but luckily that went with emotions she was trying to fake, and the closiness of a man she strongly disliked helped her rouse the memories of Warden Macnair breaking into her personal space.

When she raised her head to meet Voldemort's eyes, she caught the last traces of his surprise, quickly replaced by cold, simmering anger.

"He will be punished for that," Voldemort hissed, as his hands closed on Rebecca's shoulders. One last shiver ran down her body, and she stepped back and tried to look ashamed by her breakdown, nodding.

"After I've dealt with Potter," he added malevolently. So he knew about them - must have come here already knowing. "Stay in the back."

Very shortly, Rebecca wondered whether he believed her to be so helpless as to be unable to cause him any trouble, or whether he believed her to be his ally. In the end, it didn't matter - there wasn't much she could do, anyway.

"Potter! Come out and meet me like a man!"

"I would, if you were a man," came a loud reply. Rebecca glanced across the hall. The trio had emerged from their cover among the pillars, all holding their wands ready. Harry Potter stood in the middle, and if Rebecca remembered him correctly, he had matured over the summer - not physically, but when she looked him in the eye, she could see something definitely _adult_ in there.

"You are a fool to have come here, Potter," Voldemort drawled while drawing his own wand. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" he shouted.

So many things happened at once that Rebecca needed five seconds to take them all in.

_One,_ instead of emitting a green beam of light, Voldemort's wand changed into a swirling and hissing snake, and with a curse, Voldemort let it fall to the ground.

_Second,_ Harry Potter shouted something, and his voice went two octaves up in the middle of the incantation, and two octaves back down before he finished it, and it was all Rebecca could ever remember of it.

_Three,_ a tall figure rushed out of the shadows and in the way of the Killing Curse that had never emerged from Voldemort's wand, the man's face set and his eyes hard and determined, and he got there in time - or would have gotten there in time, if...

_Four,_ Rebecca's concentration broke, and the heavy door she had been levitating from their place on the back of the balcony over Voldemort's head fell to the floor with a loud crash.

_Five,_ Severus fell to his knees with a look of surprise as a trickle of blood appeared in the left corner of his mouth, and Rebecca started screaming and ran to him, her muted scream turning into a real one before she took him in her arms.

"He's dead," the read-headed boy said, astonished. He waved his hand in the general direction of the door that had happened to land on Voldemort's head. "I thought Harry..."

"Shut up, Ron," the Muggleborn girl interrupted him, and with a nervous glance towards Potter, she knelt beside Rebecca and Severus. She waved her wand and stuttered an incantation.

Rebecca couldn't tell whether the spell managed to stop the flow of the blood she could feel running through her fingers and pooling about her knees. All she saw was Severus' face and his eyes that fluttered open and the faint smile that curved his lips. All she could do was to lean forward to catch the word those lips were forming.

"Rebecca..." As the Muggleborn girl continued to cast one healing spell after another, Rebecca kissed the dear lips, feeling with cold certainty their warmth fleeing with the last breath that had been her name.

"Hermione," Harry Potter said after an eternity. He sounded tired and meek and gentle. Rebecca rose her head.

The other girl - Hermione - started sobbing hysterically, and Rebecca, void of tears, void of _anything,_ stared at the saviour of the wizarding world, who had... who had just...

"I didn't want to," he whispered, as if he could hear her thoughts - which he couldn't. "I didn't. Not anymore." And before she could get angry over the implication that he had wanted to kill him once, he added, "Your mother gave us the memory. I wanted to talk to him. This is..." He waved his hand and looked away. "This turned out so wrong..."

How long they were sitting there like this, Rebecca didn't know. In the end, the red-haired wizard - Ron - went to peek into the corridor and returned with a ghastly white face.

"We have to go. I mean, now. They know something's happened. They're coming here." Hermione jumped to her feet. Her eyes were red and puffy and her hands shook.

Rebecca held Severus' body. She didn't want to leave him here. Not even now.

Not even dead.

"You can't stay here," Hermione leaned towards her. "He..." She stopped short under Rebecca's gaze. "You can't," she insisted. Rebecca closed her eyes.

But she couldn't stay, not really, and she knew it. Voldemort's wand - the one she had fished out of his pocket and replaced it with the fake wand while pretending to be panicked and frightened beyond belief - slipped into her palm. She conjured a stretch.

Her own voice, while speaking the incantation, sounded strange to her.

"We can't go through that narrow tunnel with a stretch," Ron said.

"We'll manage somehow," Harry offered. "It's a long way to the entrance and..."

"I'll make a portkey," Rebecca pronounced hollowly. And without waiting for their approval, she cast the spell on Severus' robes and laid a hand on his unmoving chest. "Five seconds. Four, three..." The trio hastened to catch a piece of fabric. They could hear the door opening, just before they felt tugs at their navels and the world whirled away.

Personally, Rebecca hoped it would never whirl back.

* * *

The darkness was complete with the only exception of a thin line of light coming under the door from the kitchen. Rebecca was lying on her bed, fully clothed. She didn't feel like undressing or getting under the blanket.

She felt empty and cheated.

Soft sounds from the kitchen indicated what Rebecca's mother was doing: filling the kettle, warming up the cups, making tea. Rebecca closed her eyes. Slowly, her right hand started rubbing her stomach, and in between the comforting strokes, she _felt_ the truth.

A smile enlightened her features. The fate had played a nasty trick on her, granting her a taste of her wish and then making it impossible. But there was always a thin, tiny sparkle of light in the darkness, there was always some _life_ to live, there was always some hope to keep. The darkness was never complete. The fate could never win.

"Checkmate," she whispered. "Checkmate, you bitch."

* * *

**A/N:** I have just (17th February) finished sweeping the story and I'm astonished at seeing how many faults, typos and even factual errors you, my dear readers, let go without a comment! I've corrected all I've tracked down. Please be so nice and if you find some wild word I missed, let me know. There's this little review button, see? ;)


End file.
